


The Seven Strictures

by Zlu_and_Luff



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Sebastian Renard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zlu_and_Luff/pseuds/Zlu_and_Luff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of you may be familiar with "Heathen-Go-Lucky", a Dishonored fan comic I (Zlu) run on tumblr. This fic will consist of glimpses into the life of the comic's antagonist, Overseer Renard. There will be seven chapters, one for each Stricture, set in different moments of Sebastian Renard's life. In Dishonored we see the Abbey through the eyes of a heretic at a dark time in Dunwall's history. Part of this fic will be exploring the idea of what the Abbey is like in better times and from another point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lying Tongue

Here' are links to my fan comic "Heathen-Go-Lucky". It's much more silly and light-hearted than this fic is going to be and deals with events after the Plague is successfully cured:

  * [Part 1](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/73771622320/let-me-introduce-you-to-micino-marzo-i-apologize)
  * [Part 2](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/74745005656/part-1-next-part-now-weve-got-micinos)
  * [Part 3 (in 4 posts)](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/76169124741/part-1-part-3-next-post-i-promised-a-long)
  * [Part 4](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/77599080555/first-part-next-part-heathen-go-lucky)
  * [Part 5](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/78312818899/first-part-next-part-heathen-go-lucky-part)
  * [Part 6](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/78606110235/first-part-next-part-heathen-go-lucky-part)
  * [Part 7](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/81130435028/first-part-heathen-go-lucky-part-7-somebody)



This was fun, was it not? And now prepare to cry, because this chapter is not going to be funny at all! *laughs evilly*

And here is a [poster](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/76470930298/the-wanted-poster-from-this-post-about-dauds) of Renard, [that one of Daud's Whalers allegedly drew](http://zlukaka.tumblr.com/post/76364336107/saint-ripu-zlukaka-do-not-excommunicate-me), to give you a general idea of who this fic is about, if you don't want to read the comic. It gives the basic idea of Renard: a stiff little ninja with enough scars to account for a whole squad.

* * *

 **Chapter Notes:** Since not much is specified on certain Abbey practices in the game, I will be assuming some things, relying on realism and common sense. In Dishonored we see the Abbey through the eyes of a heretic at a dark time in Dunwall's history. Part of this fic will be exploring the idea of what the Abbey is like in better times and from another point of view.

In this chapter we will go with Sebastian through an evaluation at the Abbey on one of those special days, when parents bring their children "between the ages of seven and ten to the Abbey to be tested".

* * *

"Step into the light, child."

A row of identical golden masks peers at Sebastian from the darkness.

Trying to look brave, the boy steps away from the door, where he stood in waiting and awkwardly approaches the circle of light in the middle of the mostly dark room. His feet make an awful lot of noise on the tile floor. The borrowed shoes are way too big for him. The clothes on the other hand are too small even for his miniature frame. Still, he feels grateful for them. His own clothes and shoes are too ragged to go mudlarking in, not to mention an occasion such as this.

The bright light blinds him, but he tries not to squint. He has to make a good impression and he doesn't have all that much to work with as is.

"Your name, child."

"Sebastian Renard, Sir," the boy says as clearly as he can muster. He used to sound so much better before the chimney-sweeping, the nights he spent outdoors and the terrible cold that almost killed him. Still, he tries his best to speak clearly and with confidence. From the side he hears a rustle of papers and one of the Overseers leans down towards the table, studying some records in the light of a lamp.

"You come to us on your own, Sebastian. This is unusual," says one of the men closer to the center. His voice is tranquil and pleasant.

"I am an orphan, Sir."

"What you are, boy, is a liar! There is no Sebastian Renard on our lists!" a very different sharp voice comes from the side. This time it is easy to tell who spoke. One of the Overseers leans forward, holding a stack of papers in his hands. "What is your real name, boy? Or do you not have one?"

"It _is_ my name... Sir. I am Sebastian Renard, Sir. My parents were Leo and Rose Renard-"

Rustling again and before he could finish, the Overseer interrupts him. "Rose, Leo and Sebastian Renard are all accounted as dead. And you appear very much alive. How will you explain this, boy? Do you think our records lie?"

A knot forms in Sebastian's throat. He didn't know he was written off as dead. It all makes much more sense now. He frowns. "I think the Watch wrote me off as dead to..." the boy frowns, trying to remember the words he heard on that long ago night. "Um, to... seize my home and... property for the state... Sir."

"Ah, the corrupt Watch Guard! Every heretic's tale! Tell me boy, if you've been orphaned and homeless for..." the Overseer checks his records "... almost a year now how did you survive? Were you stealing? Eating rats perhaps?" the man behind the golden mask mocks.

Sebastian's eyebrows furrow and his lips tighten. He would never-.... Hurt and indignation boil in him at the accusations. He can't cry. He won't let them make him cry. He breathes in deeply several times, trying to calm down. But as the anger subsides, instead the boy grows anxious as he feels the Overseers' judging eyes on him. "I did not steal or eat rats, Sir. I hunted pigeons and seagulls. I carried messages for coin and did-"

"Oh, he hunted pigeons!" the doubtful Overseer laughs nastily.

"Sir, I ca-"

"How did you hunt them? Pray tell!"

"I-... I can throw a knife."

Silence.

"My father taught me..."

"Is that so? Well, why don't you impress us with your skill then! Someone, bring a throwing knife and a board, or a dummy. Or do you take your words back, brat?"

"No, sir," Sebastian says clearing his throat. His nervousness grows and he tries hard not to fidget. He doesn't have his father's knife with him. He didn't think he could need it today. Everything is going much worse than he could have possibly imagined. They won't recruit him. They will brand him a heretic. And then throw him out on the street. Just like the Watch Guards did.

He shudders when a big masked man appears in his small island of light and offers him a knife. Sebastian takes it in his hands, weighing it. It feels very similar. The boy lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Lamps are lit on one of the walls. The Overseer, who handed him the knife puts a dummy there. It's the size of a grown man, and there are painted rings on the chest and the head.

"There we go, now try to hit the target. From where you stand," the unfriendly Overseer speaks up, leaning forward, eager to see the boy fail.

Sebastian weighs the knife in one hand and narrows his eyes, evaluating the distance. He aims. He throws.

The handle hits the dummy's forehead and the knife clatters to the tile floor.

A snort comes from the table.

"May I-"

"No, I think we've seen enough!"

"Brother Brook, calm yourself. Please, do try again, Sebastian," says the tranquil soothing voice from before.

The boy glances towards the center of the table, feeling grateful. So some of them do believe him... He goes to pick up the knife and returns to his position. He throws again. The knife sinks in the bullseye on the dummy's head almost up to the handle.

There is a moment of silence and the boy slowly turns to look at the table.

The nasty Overseer is sitting with his arms crossed, leaning back against the back of his chair. "Well-well, aren't you just a prodigy? A brilliant street urchin, promising gang material! Nonetheless, it is good you came! Perhaps we can save our brethren the labors of hunting you down later and choke the weed before it grows!"

Sebastian pales, all the pride and relief he felt when he managed to hit the target draining out of him. He feels a surge of nausea as his stomach does something unnatural, sending his head spinning.

"Brother Brook!"

"What? Look at him! A rat that crawled out of the gutter in stolen clothes, spitting lies within the walls of the Abbey!"

"I'm not lying... Sir... Please..." the boy utters weakly. All he can see is the line of golden masks against the darkness glaring at him in constant indignation and anger. "I live by the Strictures, I know the Litany-... Word by word. I only ever broke the Fourth Stricture to survive the cold nights... I never stole or lied," Sebastian tries to defend himself and stay on his feet. It's growing harder and harder.

"Did you just say you know the whole Litany, child?" the kindly voice asks him.

"Yes-"

"Oh! He knows the whole Litany! A nine-year-old! How precious! Well, page 62, last paragraph! Come on now! Come on! Don't be shy!" Overseer Brook laughs.

Sebastian stares nervously at the row of golden ellipses, that is starting to blur and swim in front of his eyes. He tries to focus. "We must stand now-"

"No, no, no! That it all wrong! That's not what it says!"

"Indeed. That, my child is the last paragraph on page 61. The fragment you are looking for starts with "By this fla-"," the softer voice helps, but before it can finish the hint, the boy in the circle of light starts reciting with desperate vigor.

Silence falls in the room. Only the little scarred child in the circle of light chants like a machine. Every comma, every pause - in place. Precise as a recording. When the paragraph ends the boy falls silent. He is breathless and he sways a little, as he stands staring blankly at the row of men, who sit leaning forward in full attention.

"Bring the boy a chair and some water," the tranquil voice from before commands.

The next thing Sebastian knows is he is sitting in a fairly comfortable chair and an Overseer is trying to put a glass into his small unsteady hands.

"You've gone too far this time, Brother Brook. Look at the boy, he almost fainted," the kindly Overseer scolds the other.

Sebastian puts the edge of the cup to his lips. The Overseer's words only make it through to him half-way. His hands stopped shaking and slowly he is coming to his senses. He leans against the back of the large cushioned chair. The Overseers seem to argue, but he still doesn't quite make sense of what they are saying. Meanwhile a new voice addresses him. He can't quite pin which of the men at the table is talking to him. But after being repeated a few times the request makes it through to him.

"Page 75 paragraph 2, child..."

The boy breathes in deeply and bites his lips in concentration. He clears his throat. The two arguing men fall silent. Keeping his eyes on the darkness above the table, instead of the table itself the boy begins reciting again.

It is a long paragraph. But no one interrupts him. When he is done the silence in the room is almost tangible. It does not last long, however.

"Page 134, 3rd paragraph?"

As the boy starts reciting once more, a group of the Overseers at the table follow his progress with an open copy of the Litany. Some glance towards him and back to the book in open disbelief. Then they request another paragraph and another. It comes easier and easier to Sebastian. With every new recitation he feels less nervous. He's obviously making an impression. Perhaps they will give him a chance after all...

"You've mentioned breaking the Fourth Stricture, boy," the unfriendly Overseer states, when Sebastian finishes his seventh recitation. The boy's new-found confidence disperses.

"I... yes, Sir."

"And the Fourth Stricture is..."

"Roving feet, Sir..."

"Indeed. And you say you did it looking for shelter and never broke any other Stricture?"

"Yes, sir, I only broke the Fourth Stricture to hide from the cold."

"Where do you live now? Where did you get these clothes?" the Overseer asks after a pause. He doesn't sound half as accusatory as before.

"I was taken in by a kindhearted family. They've provided me with shelter for the winter... they let me borrow these," Sebastian admits, embarrassed.

"Why didn't you look for help from some neighbor instead of sneaking into people's attics until then?"

"I... the other children don't like m-my face," the boy says, bringing a hand up to his face self-consciously. "They chased me away each time... Then I gave up," Sebastian chose not to tell about the stones they threw at him and how they beat him within inches of his life, whenever he was not fast enough. They effectively made it impossible for him to reach their parents, that was what mattered.

After a moment of silence, the kindly voice from the center of the table speaks. "We would like to talk to the people, who have sheltered you, Sebastian. Please, tell us the names and an address."

* * *

"We'll see now if there was a single grain of truth in what you've fed us, whelp."

Sebastian's little calloused hands ball into fists. Even now as the Norrises are being questioned, Overseer Brook simply would not let him wait in peace. Sometime during the inquiry, he left the room to join Sebastian in the corridor, much to the boy's displeasure. He was anxious enough without this man and his stinging words.

Shreds of polite conversation come from behind closed doors to Sebastian's right.

"... He's always climbing things... Very agile..."

"Nothing ever went missing... Few times he spotted chimney fires..."

"... mother never missed a sermon..."

"... that the big-eyed blond lad always in the front row until last year?"

"... yes... such a shame."

"Indeed."

"Soon we will deal with you, pup. You know what the kennel-masters do with the runt in a brood?" The golden mask regards him cruelly from across the corridor.

Sebastian nods, not looking the man in the eyes. "Yes, Sir," he answers in his husky little voice. He is hurt, but not afraid. He is not a runt. If he were one, he would have been dead a long time ago. Life in the streets of Dunwall is an unforgiving kennel-master.

In a moment the doors open and Mr and Mrs Norris come out accompanied by an Overseer. Mr Norris heads out, looking as unfazed and serious as ever, while his wife lingers beside the boy, whispering half-coherent words of reassurance. However, Sebastian's attention is elsewhere: the Overseer who led them out is addressing Brook "They testified for the boy and named others, who can confirm his identity."

"I see," Sebastian's tormentor says. If he is disappointed, he hides it well.

"Good luck, Sebby," Mrs Norris manages before she is ushered after her husband. When the Norrises are gone, the distrustful Overseer stands up from his place and instead sits down on the bench next to Sebastian. To the boy's surprise he pats him on the back. "Excellent job, my boy. You are a most promising little lad," the man's voice is suddenly warm and genuinely friendly. It reminds Sebastian of his uncle from Morley and the boy gapes in bafflement at the angry golden mask.

"I don't understand, Sir."

"It was a test. And you passed it brilliantly. Such a strong and virtuous heart in a child... What happened to you could have broken many a grown man! And instead you survive, and you come to us, confessing your misdoings no less – that takes extraordinary courage and virtue. You are no runt, boy! You look the part and, frankly, it will not be easy for you in Whitecliff. But you show more spirit and resolve than anyone I ever tested. You will make a great Overseer. All you need now is time and training...” the Overseer says, a smile apparent in his friendly voice. “Your parents would have been very proud of you."

Tears that he had held back through the questioning stream from the boy's eyes. Sebastian hides his face in his hands, trying to wipe them off with his sleeves. His bony little body shakes, but not a single audible sob comes out of him.

"There, there," Overseer Brooks offers him a handkerchief. “The hurtful things I said to you were baseless, but necessary. To make it through the Rites you will need to be strong of spirit, mind and body. Now I know you have the strength of character to pull through.” Overseer Brooks pats the boy on the back a few more times, watching the child attentively. "Until we go to Whitecliff, you can stay here, at the Abbey, if you prefer."

Sebastian gapes up at the man in shock from behind the handkerchief that he is still pressing to his lower face.

"The Norris's kids don't like you much either, do they?" the Overseer asks bitterly, brushing aside some of the boy's hair to see a powdered-over bruise on the side of his forehead.

The boy swallows. "The girls are nice to me... But I... if I will not be a burden, I would very much like to stay here... Sir," he looks up at the golden mask hopefully.

It nods.

* * *

As he goes to sleep on a make-shift bed in the barracks Sebastian's eyes sting, but his cheeks hurt from grinning.


	2. Restless Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter consists of several parts. Each takes place in different moments in the past. Through all of his life Sebastian was surrounded by violence wrought by restless hands. Quite often - by a very particular pair of those.

The other children keep their distance. Some of them, mostly the younger ones, are crying, others sit with forlorn expressions, hugging their knees to their chests or holding onto each other. It is cold and the old bare mattresses provide little comfort, but they sit on them in tight groups, like little animals huddled on bits of land in the middle of the flood.

Only the small shabby noseless kid sits alone and at ease with his back against the brick wall and his legs stretched out. He studies the rest of them with a peaceful and perhaps somewhat sympathetic smile on his mutilated face. Sebastian is sure it's his face that puts the others off. They find it hideous and freakish. That's what some of them told him on many occasions. The others, the ones he does not recognize, must simply share that sentiment.

He doesn't for a moment think it could be anything else. Like his attitude.

Each time one of them glances his way, on Sebastian's face he finds a look of madness. They were torn from their families. About to be taken away to a place from where they might never return. Tears, anger, fear – any reaction would make sense. Any at all. Any but his.

One of the bigger boys lets out an unusually loud sob and Sebastian's eyes stop on him for a while. For once the smile leaves Sebastian's face replaced by sheer bewilderment.

"James?" he asks in shock.

The other boy's round red face turns to him. James Norris falls silent, his reddened eyes open wide with surprise. The quiet doesn't last long. With a wild roar, the chubby boy darts towards him. "You!!!"

Sebastian instinctively curls up into a ball, covering his head with his hands.

"I will kill you! It's all because of you!"

Pain fills Sebastian's world, but he doesn't make a single sound. Too many times had he been pommeled by those hammy fists. He's gone through worse things, far worse than this. Tears roll out of Sebastian's eyes, but he remains completely silent.

The door opens with a loud creak and James is torn away from him and shoved into the opposite corner.

"What is this, boy?! Do I see restless hands to be restrained? Let this be a lesson to you all!" the Overseer, who barged into the room, alerted by the noise, produces manacles from his belt and cuffs James's hands behind his back.

"I see or hear you making any more trouble and I will tighten the cuffs," the Overseer pulls on the shackles and Norris yelps in pain as the weight of his plump body makes cuffs dig painfully into his pink skin.

Then the Overseer leaves and their little prison falls completely silent.

Renard slowly comes to his senses and sits back up against the wall. His sides, arms and legs hurt. But after he wipes his tears away with a dirty sleeve, the smile slowly crawls back onto his face.

Soon they will all be going to Whitecliff.

He is going home. He is going to a place, that won't reject him for the way he looks. A place, where honestly and rectitude are a virtue and not a punishable offence. He will have a family again. An entirely male, strict, hard-hearted and fearsome family.

* * *

Sebastian looks around himself. It's supper time and everyone in the Mess Hall is tired and much more conversational than in the morning. Men talk, joke, argue or share an amicable or solemn silence.

Renard looks about the room from face to familiar face. He is sitting at a table all alone, eating dutifully but without appetite.

Two weeks ago James Norris did not return from his patrol. Two days and nights Sebastian spent searching for him whenever his duty allowed. Then a golden mask with a slash across the face was found nailed to the Abbey gates. Norris's mask.

It left no room for hope or speculation. James Norris was dead. The twelve days that followed proved to be a trial for Renard. Every morning he would wake with firm belief that James was there, on the bunk above his own, simply lying around like the lazy lump he was. And every morning he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as reality dawned on him.

Fourteen days without Norris. Without the man's inappropriate and downright insulting remarks, without his angry grim demeanour. Fourteen nights going to sleep without anyone to say goodnight to only to hear wishes of choking on spit and dying in return. He'd never thought he would be missing those. Or the snoring. Or the mess Norris always left around their bunk bed. It's pristinely clean for twelve days and it is starting to drive Sebastian mad.

He remembers the time when they were children in Whitecliff.

Then too he was alone. Most of the other children avoided or ignored him. Apart from the other bullies, who gave him trouble now and then, only Norris would seek him out on a regular basis. James would yell and snarl at him and beat him senseless like he always did. But he was there. He would talk about the street he had lived on, the by-streets through which he had chased Renard, his sisters who had always been nice to the pesky blond snitch that James Norris hated since day one. All those things both of them missed away from home. Sebastian would cry because the kicks and the insults and the memories all hurt. But while his eyes would water not a sound would leave his throat and that would drive James mad. In the end the bigger boy would grow tired of beating him and slump against some nearby surface and cry. And so they would stay crying together. Missing Dunwall. Missing Mrs and Mr Norris, missing Eleanor and Daisy and little Lara.  
   
They were never friends, not really. Norris had other friends. Questioners most of them. Cruel and sadistic, just like him. But even as they grew up and Sebastian learned to stand his ground too well to be picked on, James would still seek him out now and then as a habit. He would snarl, spit insults and sometimes even try to fight him. But most of the time they would just talk. After coming back to to Dunwall, sometimes they would go to visit the Norrises and Sebastian would feel gladness at the sight of these simple honest people, who had sheltered him in his time of need.

Now the Norrises hate him. He is the leader of the squad James was in. Their son died because of him. He knows it is not entirely true but it is of little consequence. James is dead.

Sebastian snaps out of his reverie, when he hears Windham's voice at a table nearby. He glances toward the man. Sweet soft Windham never seemed to like him much. Who does? Well, Garrett Berinov - bless his kind heart - would likely hear him out. But he is on patrol. Sebastian sighs in resignation.

Perhaps he should sit down at one of those semi-occupied tables next time and weather the cautious angry looks for the sake of drowning in the chatter of others... assuming it would resume after his arrival. Or perhaps he should sit with the questioners. They never get as uncomfortable around him. Let them mock him for being soft and inefficient with the comparably few confessions he extracts. Anything would be better than this moping. He is not allowed to mope. He is a Warfare Overseer. His mind must be devoid of fear and sorrow, lest they invite the Outsider in.

Captain Rowe. He should go see Captain Rowe of the City Watch. Rowe had said it was alright, if he wanted to talk about it. About his loss. And he wants to. No, he needs to. Because if he doesn't he might for once break the orders given to him and go searching for James's murderer. That would be most irresponsible and utterly impractical.

So Rowe it is... perhaps tomorrow, Sebastian decides. And having mechanically finished his meal, he retreats to the barracks to wish the empty upper bunk goodnight.

* * *

"Get him, get him!"

Sebastian zigzags to take cover behind the chimneys, but he doesn't stop running. His feet barely touch the roof tiles, as he searches desperately for a place to hide. An attic window, a bigger group of chimneys, something that would make his pursuers race ahead. All he needs is a few moments out of sight to start climbing down.

But there is nothing. And the roofs are all on one level, leaving him at a disadvantage. He looks ahead and suddenly the gravity of his situation dawns on him in full. It's a dead end. There is maybe forty feet of roof still left ahead of him and then nothing, just the Wrenhaven.

Sebastian curses, feeling bitter and angry. He had it coming - being so brainless! He should have watched where he was running! He shouldn't have gone down close to the street! Never again will he take a shortcut over that part of town again! That is, if he survives. Renard stops running and leans against the last chimney, facing his inevitable demise.

The inevitable demise comes running in the form of four large oafs.

"Not so safe now, huh, snitch?" Norris huffs, leaning forward and breathing heavily as he fixes his small angry eyes on his prey. "This whole..." Huff. "... roof climbing is not so hard after all! You were just lucky before..."

The three other boys stand beside James all breathing heavily, but all of them smirking. They finally caught the ugly little freak in a trap on "his own territory".

"You know... it's actually better catching 'im up 'ere, than catching him down 'ere," Buck, the smallest bully and only street urchin among Norris's gang, nods towards the street. "Down 'ere, them adults wouldn't let the fun last."

"True that, Buck!" James agrees.

Sebastian scowls at them silently. He could mock their fantastic feat of climbing up a ladder to get to the roof he'd been on when the chase began, or their most courageous attack of four against one, but that would only make them angry. And he doesn't want them angry. He has seen them angry and has felt their anger. Let them celebrate, maybe they will go easy on him and keep the threats verbal only.

The looks on their faces say otherwise. James pulls out some stones from his pockets and so do the others. Sebastian winces involuntarily. He hoped they'd run out of those. From ten feet there is no way they will miss him. And if this is how it starts, then surely it will end far worse than usually.

Sebastian notices the glee on Buck's face. It does not bode well at all. He'd "stolen" some of Buck's clients as errand boy some time ago, and clearly now Buck's planning to put him out of business. And in his present situation that might as well put him into his grave.

James swings and as one the other three boys do too. Sebastian darts to the side, running around the chimney and dashing towards the edge. The four bullies only make it around the chimney in time to see him jump. They stand gawking as they watch the small boy fall like an arrow into the grimy water.

"He's insane..." Buck says quietly. "He'll break his neck and hagfish will eat him."

"Or adopt him."

Snickering, the boys stare at the circles on the water.

"Do you think he-"

"Rat's ass!" James yells angrily, as the little blond weirdo reappears above the water and after splashing about for a moment swims towards a disused sewer entrance. "We'll get you, you homeless ugly little shit! For now swim in sewage all you like, you... rat-eating piss mop!"

They stand like that a while, screaming insults down at the boy in the water.

Sebastian climbs onto a rock beside the sewers. He wipes the water out of his eyes, removes the wet hair from his face, grins and tilting his head back shouts "You know, I'm quite sure the chimney sweeps must have taken the ladder away by now! Good luck getting down from there without it!"

He smirks as he watches the bigger boys rush back the way they came. When they're gone, his smirk dissipates and the boy coughs, clawing onto his dirty wet clothes. It's late afternoon, he must do what he can to clean and dry them before nightfall. Sebastian stumbles to his feet with a grunt, and wincing from the hurt in most of his body, he walks away, heading nowhere in particular, having nowhere to go to.

* * *

Sweat trickles down Sebastian's forehead as he lunges to the side again and again, ecstatic, drunk with adrenaline. He is doing it, he is finally doing it! Sebastian suppresses the joy, keeping his focus. No rash moves, no showing off, only speed, focus and precision.

"Shit! Stop twirling like a fucking girl!"

The swearing does nothing to distract or discourage the smaller lad. Light on his feet he slips out of Norris's grasp and uses every opportunity to strike. At first the punches amused Norris, but not anymore. Every time he tries to strike the noseless freak, Renard just ends up hitting him instead, and that makes Norris more and more furious and out of control. But what really pisses him off is how defiant and smug the other teen looks. Unable to take it anymore, James tries to grab the little prick, but as his knees bend the blond punches him in the jaw, and then before James has a moment to even get surprised a series of strikes to his face and neck follow. Norris forgets about his own attack, trying to stay on his feet and in that moment the shorty kicks him in the stomach with all of his strength, sending James to the floor.

Sebastian breathes heavily, looking at the massive writhing figure on the floor. James swears, clutching onto his head and gut and Sebastian feels a mighty urge to kick him. Kick him like Norris kicked him all those years. Oh, but it wouldn't hurt half as much. Perhaps if he found a nice metal beam – then he could return the pain Norris had so gladly given him through all these years...

And then he snaps out of it. It's over. He won. There is no reason for him to hurt James anymore. Indulging his lust for retribution would be against the Strictures. Reluctantly he steps away, dropping his battle stance.

"If you try to pick on me again, James, I will beat you _again_ ," Sebastian says in a husky deadpan voice. "You don't want your friends to see _that_."

"Fuck you, you little cock-sucker!"

"Restrict your lying tongue, Norris. And your restless hands."

"I'll get you, you-" James lurches at him, but Renard dodges and slams him on the back with both fists. Norris lands with a grunt. "This isn't over!" James snarls, pulling himself up as best he can, but when he turns around, Sebastian is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James Norris was a big part of Sebastian's life. A big angry violent part, that wanted him dead half of the time. Nonetheless, you don't go through hell and back with someone without getting attached. Whitecliff and Abbey work brought the two together despite their mutual hatred, that slowly faded replaced by a sort of antagonistic brotherly bond. They still felt largely annoyed or outraged by one another, being opposites in too many ways, but their squabbles had turned from genuine insults and threats to semi-humorous idle talk. 
> 
> In the end Norris's Restless Hands were the end of him (that is a whole separate story). After a lot of guilt-ridden mourning, Renard's memories of him reconfigured themselves into a mostly fond memory of a much better man than Norris had every been. Everyone else at the Abbey found the change in Sebastian's attitude towards Norris postmortem either disturbing or ridiculous.
> 
> (Mentions of characters not belonging to me: obviously Windham, the gay Overseer from game canon; Garrett Berinov, a big nice Tyvian Overseer, belonging to saint-ripu on tumblr, and Wilbur Rowe, a Captain of the City Watch, belonging to luffik).


	3. Rampant Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two moments from Sebastian's childhood, before and after he lost his parents. How to raise a zealous Overseer, the tutorial.

The sweet smell of freshly baked biscuits pulls Sebastian out of bed. The boy quickly snatches his neatly folded clothes, dresses, washes his face, brushes his hair and hurries into the kitchen. The smell intensifies tenfold and his stomach rumbles audibly. There they are, delicious golden circles of baked delight, resting in neat rows on the table. The boy approaches them wearily, glancing towards his mother, who is taking the last batch of the biscuits from the oven.

“Good morning,” Sebastian says to the cookies on the table.

“Good morning, Sebby,” his mother replies.

“Are we going to wait for dad?” the boy asks, eyeing the biscuits like they are a flock of birds about to take to the air.

“No, not today. Your daddy has some urgent business that will take till late afternoon, we'll eat breakfast and lunch without him.”

“Alright... May I have some?” Sebastian glances from the biscuits to his mother, keeping his arms behind his back.

“No, Sebastian. These are not for us. These are for old Mrs Grislow,” Rose's severe uncompromising tone enforces absolute obedience.

The boy furrows his eyebrows, looking at the table with longing. “Not a single one?”

“No. There are exactly thirty six biscuits here. Mrs Grislow has three friends, whom she invites to have tea with her. If we assume that they visit her every day and every old lady, Mrs Grislow included, eats one biscuit during each visit, how many days will thirty six biscuits last?”

The boy pouted, counting. “Nine days.”

“Very good. Now imagine one day Mrs Grislow invites her friends to have tea on the last day and there is one biscuit less, because I let you have one. One poor old lady will have to drink tea without her biscuit.”

Sebastian bites his lip, eyeing the biscuits wearily.

“Mrs Grislow, being the good hostess that she is, would most likely give the biscuits to her guests and drink her tea without one. And she wouldn't show it, but she would be very, very sad. Because Mrs Grislow doesn't have a husband or children, or grandchildren. She doesn't have a little boy to go to the store for her and fetch her biscuits when she is short on those,” Rose speaks softly as she packs the baked goods away. “That is why I made her these, and I want you to carry those to her. And not eat a single one. When you come back, we will have oatmeal.”

The boy pouts at the mention of oatmeal. What is oatmeal when you could have such delicious biscuits?

“Restrict the Rampant Hunger, Sebastian. Think of Mrs Grislow, alone, crying in the evening, because her black tea was so bitter without the biscuit to drink it with.”

Sebastian pictures the wrinkled frail old lady sobbing, alone in her dark empty apartment, all while sipping painfully bitter tea. The biscuits instantly grow less appealing. “I will not eat the biscuits, mother, I promise.”

“I trust that you will not. Now, off you go. When you return, we will eat breakfast.”

 

Sebastian runs with the package of biscuits pressed to his chest. The smell makes his stomach growl and his mouth water, but these are not for him. And neither are they for the other kids. So he has to hurry in case any of the bigger boys catch sight of him. They wouldn't care for the tears of a lonely old lady. And his tears would only make stolen biscuits all the sweeter. Luckily it is too early and most of the other children are still asleep.

 

But old lady Grislow lives on the opposite side of the neighborhood and every time he takes a breath, Sebastian pictures the delicious crust still warm and so wonderfully crisp. His mother's biscuits are simply the best. Absolutely mouthwatering. The boy feels tempted to at least unwrap them a little and breathe in the smell, but that would only make his hunger grow. Restrict the rampant hunger, the boy repeats to himself. If he ate a biscuit, the old lady would cry and he would live with that knowledge and guilt for the rest of his days. And what if his mother asked if he kept his promise and he lied? Two Strictures would be broken and then probably more! He would become a detestable heretic and all for the sake of a biscuit.

The boy's resolve becomes absolute and by the time he reaches the old lady's doorstep, he takes pride in his selfless sacrifice. His mother would expect no less of him. After all he will be an Overseer one day.

 

Mrs Grislow's apartment smells of old people, even older furniture and cats. While the old lady is busy unpacking the biscuits, the boy crouches to stroke one of the cats and soon they swarm him, almost knocking him over in a surge of feline affection. Sebastian laughs, trying to stroke each of the affectionate felines at least once. They rub against him and try to get in his lap all at once, causing the boy much amusement.

The old lady approaches her flock and their young victim. “Thank you, Sebastian, and thanks to your mother. You two are too kind to me.”

“You are welcome, Mrs Grislow, Ma'am,” the boy smiles. His stomach makes a rumble, alerting the cat currently occupying his lap.

“Oh, goodness, Sebby, have you not had breakfast?”

“No, Mrs Grislow, not yet.”

“Didn't your mother at least treat you to some of those delicious biscuits?” the old lady gestures towards the package on the table.

Sebastian shakes his head. “No, Ma'am. She said if I eat a single one, there will not be enough for your regularly held tea party and that you would have to go without one and that you would cry. And I don't want you to cry, Mrs Grislow.”

The old lady stares at him for a while in bewilderment. She tries to offer him some of the biscuits, but the boy protests, proclaiming they are all hers. Mrs Grislow shakes her head and smiling goes to the kitchen. She returns a moment later with two cups of tea and two pieces of pie. “Since you will not eat the biscuits, let me at least treat you to some Morley apple pie. Tabetha brought me some yesterday, I was going to eat it for lunch, but it will taste much better in the company of such a fine young man as yourself, I am sure.”

Sebastian smiles brilliantly. Then his expression grows more serious. “Ma'am, can I take half of my piece back to my mother?”

The old lady laughs.

 

* * *

 

Sebastian stumbles. He feels so very cold and faint. His head swims and he feels like throwing up, but his stomach is so empty he is not sure how it could possibly be emptied further. The boy shudders, leaning against the wall for a moment not to lose balance and fall over. The bakery will open only in several hours. And then hopefully he can bargain with the baker for a burnt loaf if there are any. He wants to cry. All of last week's savings were shaken out of him by the bigger boys again. It was bad enough when they stole his pocket money, back when he had a family and a home. But now the coin he earns cleaning chimneys and running errands is his only means of survival and they still take it from him without a moment of doubt.

What a lot of heretics, he thinks angrily. And then his heart sinks. What would his mother say of him? Trespassing, sleeping in other people's attics. At least he never stole or lied, or broke any other Stricture than the Fourth. And he only broke the Fourth to survive. The nights are growing colder and colder as winter approaches. The boy sighs, slowly trudging forward.

Suddenly he smells something. The smell is absolutely delicious, it wakes him, livens up his step and leads him on. Carefully the boy peeks into a bystreet, where a group of vagrants sits around the fire. He studies them attentively for a while, determining if any of them are the dangerous kind, the kind that he has learned to avoid at all costs. But no, these here are just peaceful elderly beggars, who are more likely to just bargain with him rather than try to take the little amount of money he has by force. Wearily, the boy approaches them, keeping to the shadows and watching the fire where small skewered animals are roasting. He stops a good distance away. Skewer rats. A wave of nausea comes over the boy and he stumbles out of the alley, filled with hunger and revulsion.

Restrict the rampant hunger. Restrict the rampant hunger.

Sebastian walks until he can no longer smell the sickening aroma of baking rat meat. Then he bends in half and heaves.


End file.
